(dirk/jake, inspired by this even though it’s a sheet and not a towel covering jake’s butt in the original picture)
You have a lot of great days when you live with Dirk Strider. That is an undeniable fact.
He’s a good lover—better than your imagination ever provided you in your teenage years—as well as an extraordinary person, and he keeps you on your toes in every aspect of your cohabitation. If it’s not a surprise dinner-and-movie date, it’s an ambush the minute you walk in the door, shortly followed by a scuffle on the kitchen tile that ends in kissing away bruises that haven’t yet had the chance to form.
The only thing that you can rely on are lazy mornings. You usually get up at the crack of dawn and go for a jog with Halley, leaving Dirk to sleep off his soreness if he needs the rest, and when you return, he’s often still curled under the sheets and missing your warmth.
It’s an unspoken promise between the two of you that after you shower (he’s adamant about that part) you always crawl back in bed and sleep for another hour or two until Dirk finally rouses. He didn’t sleep a lot when he was younger, but you suppose that his insomnia has finally passed.
You’re happy for it.
You slip into the bedroom after giving Halley his breakfast, leaning down to peck Dirk on the cheek. He shifts, awakened-but-not-awake, and turns his head so he can kiss your lips before apparently falling asleep again. You chuckle and back off into the bathroom.
Dirk got you into the habit of extended showers, so you’re in there for at least an hour, washing off the sweat from the heat outside until you couldn’t possibly smell more like soap and freshness—you rather enjoy your masculine natural scent, but someone started buying a citrus bodywash that’s almost too girly for your tastes. It gets him revved up, though, so you can’t say you mind that much.
You hear the sounds of stirring outside the bathroom door, so you wrap a towel around your waist (force of habit, you guess) after drying your hair and push open the door.
“Good morning, Dirk,” you greet, quietly, until you peek and catch sight of what exactly is waiting for you.
“Good mornin’ to you too.” His head is cocked and he has those dadblasted shades of his perched perfectly on his face—but that’s the only thing he seems to be wearing. He wiggles his fingers at you, rattling the chains on his wrists that you know from experience are your favorite handcuffs to use in evening games.
“But,” he wraps his legs around the pillow covering his crotch, “I’m ready for you to make it better.”
It doesn’t take you long to put it all together, especially with the moment of stunned silence that follows; you can hear the quiet whirring of Squarewave under the bed until you step closer and he hastily shuts himself off, and it’s not as though you don’t recognize the scene.
You drop the towel and slide onto the bed.
“I’m not unlocking you yet, Holmes,” you smile, crawling toward him until you can kiss his smirking face.
Lazy mornings have their merits, but sometimes it can be worth it to shake things up.